


Bender

by vipjuly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, F/M, Female Dean Winchester, Heterosexual Sex, M/M, Male Castiel/Female Dean Winchester, timestamp somewhere in season 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 12:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14873805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: In order to protect a sorority from a vampire, Dean allows Rowena to transform him into a girl so he can go undercover.He's stillDean. Just in a female body.This is surprisingly easy.





	Bender

**Author's Note:**

> a casual exploration of this trope because honestly, i think dean wouldn't give a shit if he were transformed into a girl  
> slight nod to [valyria's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valyria) version of girl!dean, whom i fell in love with. it should be noted that while dean is biologically female in this fic, he will still be referred to as he/him.  
> i've never written a case fic before so i'm sorry if it sucks. i tried to edit it but got lazy halfway through

“This will work, right?”

Rowena sends Dean a smooth, arched brow from where she’s standing in front of the metallic bowl, hand poised to strike a match. “Are ye really wanting to be doubting my prowess now, Dean?”

 

Dean shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I mean- you’re not gonna screw me over by disappearing before we can do the reversal spell, right?”

Rowena tuts, “I’m hurt you would even suggest such a thing.”

From his seat adjacent to where Rowena is standing at the map table, Sam also sends Rowena a cautious look. “You don’t exactly have a perfect track record when it comes to helping us, Rowena.”

Dropping her hands to the side, Rowena fixes Sam with a huffy glare. “I’ve _changed_ , moose, when will you lugs come to terms with it?” 

Dean crosses his arms over his chest protectively. “Probably never.” 

Rowena’s curly red hair bounces with the speed at which she whips her head towards Dean. “I’ll have you know my feelings are being hurt.” 

Dean sends her a rather blasé look. “Really now.”

Sitting next to Sam, Castiel looks between everyone with his usual frown of consternation. “I understand your hesitance, but this is the only way we can handle the case, and Dean- as you said ten minutes ago, time is of the essence. We must find the vampire before it kills again.” 

“Still don’t know why it’s gotta be me,” Dean grumbles, uncrossing his arms and shaking his hands out. 

“I hate to say it, but you’re the most qualified to go in under cover,” Sam says, and he really _does_ sound like he hates to say it. 

Dean smiles to himself, looking all sorts of satisfied. “You’re right. I am.” 

Rowena strikes the match, dropping it into the bowl. “ _Novis genus!_ ”

A flash of light swallows the room, and the spell is cast.

\--

A sorority is under attack in Lafayette, Louisiana. Sam had caught whiff of the case earlier this week; one girl dead, throat ripped out, blood drained from her body. The death lined up with another rape/murder, so Sam had pinged it, but hadn’t pursued it, waiting for any more leads that could solidify the thought that it might be a vampire. A few days later another girl was discovered, manner of death exact, and he’d brought up the case to Dean and Castiel and they had all agreed that it was worth checking out. Been a while since they’ve hunted vamps. 

The only issue was… well, the obvious: Sorority. 

They all talked about possible disguises that would allow them to investigate; FBI, Marshall, detectives, concerned family members. Pretty much all of those got shot down because when Sam investigated the sorority, he discovered how _tight_ it was. The girls were family, and knew everything about one another. It would be hard to squeeze in and try to get any information. Not only that- men weren’t _allowed_ near the sorority houses. In fact Sam had found a paper trail of previous incidents that had been investigated by _female_ figures of authority. 

And ok, girl power and all that. Rock on. 

But that put a huge damper on their own investigation. 

“This would be easier if one of us were female,” Castiel had said plaintively, frowning at the laptop screen. 

Sam caught Dean’s eyes across the table.

Dean chugged the rest of his beer. “I guess.” 

“Cas is right,” Sam said, licking his lips and lifting a hand so he could gesture while he spoke. “We gotta get a girl on the inside.”

“I can call Claire,” Dean suggested with a shrug. 

“We don’t have time for that,” Sam said. “We should leave tomorrow morning. If the vamp has a pattern, they’ll strike again in two days, and that’s all the time we have to drive down there.”

“So- what, one of us crossdresses to get in?” Dean asked, incredulous. “You’re pretty, Sammy, but not that pretty.” 

Sam drummed his fingers on the tabletop for a moment, before pulling out his phone. “I’ll call Rowena.”

“For _what_?” Dean spluttered, going stiff in his seat. 

“A spell,” Sam said simply, already dialing and holding the phone up to his ear. “To turn one of us into a girl.” 

Castiel nodded gravely. “That would be the best course of action.”

Eyes wide and darting between Sam and Castiel, Dean threw his hands up and stood, the legs of his chair scuttling noisily across the floor. “Unbelievable.” 

“It should be you,” Castiel said, eyes on Dean. 

“ _Me_?” Dean replied, incredulous. 

“Rowena,” Sam greeted the witch, standing up as well so he could leave the room to continue the conversation.

“Yes,” Castiel continued. “It would suit you best.”

“It would _suit me_?” Dean was still spluttering. 

Castiel frowned. “You are incredibly knowledgeable when it comes to women.” 

Dean sent Castiel a confused glance. “I’m not quite sure that kinda knowledge is what’s gonna help me in this situation, Cas.”

“Imagine me as a woman, Dean,” Castiel said, eyes flashing in impatience. 

Dean imagined it. Then, he scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “Good point.”

“And while Sam is more… sensitive, and empathetic, he may lose focus of the mission.” Castiel explained. “In theory Sam would blend in better. But he lacks your… charm.”

Dean squinted. “Charm.”

“It would be easy for you to befriend the girls in the sorority and do the digging you need in order to gather information,” Castiel reasoned. “Gain their trust, and protect them.” 

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “That’s… not wrong.”

Castiel looked too pleased with himself.

Sam returned, waving his phone in his hand. “Rowena will be here in a few hours with the spell. Dean, it should be you.”

Dean tried to send Sam a withering glare. “Yeah, we’ve already gathered that.”

“I just think it would be best because- wait,” Sam blinked. “You already agreed?” 

Castiel puffed his chest a little. “I helped him see the logic.”

Sam’s eyebrows nearly disappeared in his hairline. “Well. Ok. Uh- let’s go over the case again, then.”

Dean returned to his seat at the table, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before turning his attention to Sam. “Let’s get to it.”

\--

“Woah.” 

Having to look _up_ at Sam from _so far down_ is making Dean’s neck sore. The spell had been executed flawlessly, and Rowena had given Sam the counterspell in a small vial, telling him that Dean just needed to drink it in order to return back to his regular self. Easy peasy. It’s been ten minutes since the spell had been completed and Dean doesn’t really feel different on the _inside_ , but the physical difference is… a little jarring. 

Apparently, his female self is only five-foot-two, and petite. Sandy blonde hair hangs past his collarbones in loose, natural waves, freckled skin smooth and youthful. A quick pat down of his body lets him know he’s about a B-cup, twenty-six waist, and damn it, why couldn’t Rowena bless him with a bubble butt? He’s still wearing the clothes he’d been wearing pre-spell and they’re all hanging off of him, and he lifts a hand to brush his bangs out of his eyes with a little huff. 

“Why am I so tiny?” he demands. Oh, that’s his voice. Damn. 

“Rowena brought clothes,” Sam says, holding a small satchel towards Dean. He’s pointedly looking away. “You should go change.”

Dean takes the bag from Sam with a little sigh, opening it up and peering inside. “If there’s anything pink in here…” Sifting through the contents, Dean grins when he pulls out a pretty, nude colored bra. “Awesome.” 

Castiel has stayed seated the entire time, an elbow on the table, hand covering his mouth as he squints at Dean curiously. “You are, indeed, small.”

Rolling his eyes a little, Dean glares at Castiel. “Thanks.” 

“It looks like Rowena also made you younger,” Sam says, eyes trailing over Dean’s face with a slightly clinical gaze. 

“Yeah, a forty year old broad probably wouldn’t mesh well with the hot young sorority sisters,” Dean says. “I’m gonna go change and we’ll meet at the car in twenty.”

“Twenty?” Sam arches a brow.

Dean feels his cheeks heat up as he turns on heel, huffing, “Gotta figure out how the plumbing works before we go on a road trip and I gotta use a public restroom, asshole.”

Sam’s laughter echoes after Dean as he disappears down the hallway.

\--

The clothes Rowena had brought are, thankfully, not bad. Two pairs of jeans, three pairs of yoga pants, an assortment of plain shirts and tank tops, a few flannels, a hoodie. Plenty of changes of underwear and a sports bra. Dean picks through all of the clothes with interest, and alright, Rowena isn’t his favorite person in the world, but as he slips into a pair of yoga pants and feels how _comfortable_ they are, he briefly debates sending her a wine basket. This is nice. Putting a bra on takes way more effort than removing it from someone else but he gets it figured out eventually, struggling to tighten the straps so there’s not a weird gap between the cup and his boob. He dons a tshirt and the hoodie, zipping it up and rummaging through the bag to see what other goodies Rowena packed. There’s a small cosmetic bag and Dean opens it, unsurprised to see various makeup items stored inside as well as a note ( _Google it, dear_ ), but he’s most happy at what he doesn’t see: sanitary products. He’d never forgive Rowena if she would have thrown in that little biological tick - even though Dean totally deserves it. 

He packs his shaving kit after realizing that just because he doesn’t have hair on his face doesn’t mean he won’t need it, and then he makes a quick stop in the bathroom. Sitting down on the toilet isn’t unfamiliar (although he notes that in this smaller body, the toilet doesn’t seem so low to the ground), and after some shifting and squirming his bladder finally releases, and he lets out a sigh of relief. Thank God. He wipes clean and flushes and rights his clothes before he washes his hands and grabs his duffel, catching his reflection in the mirror. 

It’s really… odd, but not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to him. In fact, objectively, Dean can say he makes a damn hot chick. He’s still got all of the delicate features he normally does - long lashes, plush lips, high cheekbones - it’s just the absence of the usually masculine features (strong jaw, slightly crooked nose) that throws him off a little. He’s still so very obviously _Dean_ , and he finds comfort in the fact that Rowena hadn’t completely changed his DNA around. 

Sam and Castiel are packing the trunk when Dean enters the garage. 

“How’s the plumbing?” Sam asks, because he’s a little bitch. 

Dean tosses his duffel into the trunk and sends him a baleful glare. “Wanna see for yourself?”

Sam gags a little and Dean smirks to himself as he rounds the car to the driver’s door. 

“Uh-”

Dean can barely see over the top of the car as he glares across the roof at Sam, who’s standing on the other side. “What?”

“You’re driving?” Sam asks.

Dean’s eyes narrow. “You implying that I can’t-”

“Well-”

“-because I’m a woman now?”

“ _No_ -!” Sam flails a hand. “Not because you’re a woman, jeez. Dean, this car is huge. And you’re a lot smaller. It’s just-”

“-physics?” Dean snarks. He rolls his eyes and yanks open the door. “Get in the fucking car, Sam. I’m driving.” 

The three of them get into the car, and as Dean settles into his seat, he feels his right foot hitting… nothing. Air. Glancing down into the footwell he sees that he’s a good half a foot away from the pedals, and he huffs in annoyance. Reaching under the seat he grabs the lever that has pretty much never been pulled in the entire existence of the car and has to _yank_ it, the bench seat lurching forward.

“Woah-” Sam yelps when his knees collide with the glovebox.

Dean laughs obnoxiously as his foot finally comfortably rests on the gas pedal. “Sorry Sammy. Maybe sit in the back.” 

Sam shoots Dean a glare, and then he actually opens the door and gets out of the passenger seat _willingly_. Castiel doesn’t seem perturbed as he gets out of the backseat and trades places with Sam, fitting comfortably in front of the dash, as Sam climbs into the backseat and mumbles under his breath about how Dean deserves to be so short.

This should be good.

\--

The Impala eats the miles and kicks up dirt as they ride down towards Louisiana. Sam keeps checking his phone for updates to make sure no other bodies drop while they’re driving, Castiel sits quietly and watches the scenery as usual, and Dean takes an odd delight in the way his hair whips around his face with the window down and summer air kissing his skin. They stop in Norman for food, and Dean seems to either forget or just not care that he’s in a female body as he flirts shamelessly with the waitress, who blushes prettily and gives him a slice of pie “on the house”. 

At a gas station Dean stands at the pump while Castiel and Sam head inside for drinks, and while the novelty of his hair blowing around his face had been fun for the first few hours, Dean is mildly annoyed by it now. He opens the trunk and rummages in the cosmetic bag to pull out a hair tie, frowning at it and stretching it on his fingers. He has no idea how to do this, but he’s going to freaking try. Gathering up his hair, he attempts to tie it up, but a few locks fall out of the band, and his bun feels lopsided. Untangling it and trying again, he huffs when he’s unsuccessful. On the third try he starts cursing under his breath and the dude at the pump on the other side of the stall is sending him weird glances, which Dean pointedly ignores.

Sam and Castiel return to the car with bottled water and coffee and Dean’s arms are starting to get tired from trying to tie his hair up. Sam, the fucking asshole, grins at Dean and gets into the car without a word, and Dean helplessly kicks at a tire because he _knows_ Sam knows how to use a Goddamn ponytail holder. 

Castiel, however, looks at Dean thoughtfully, and then rounds the car to approach. “Are you having difficulty?” 

Dean isn’t sure what he looks like when he pouts as a woman, but he doesn’t care as he furrows his brow and purses his lips. “Yes.”

“Allow me,” Castiel offers, holding out his hand. 

Out of options, Dean hands over the hair tie and then turns around, folding his arms over his chest. It’s weird to feel his breasts under his arms when he does it, and he probably _does_ look ridiculous, but he really needs his hair taken care of.

Castiel’s fingers are gentle as they finger-comb through Dean’s long hair, pulling the tangles free before starting to gather it. Dean feels his eyes flutter a little at the sensation of Castiel’s strong, firm fingers working across his scalp and through his hair, gathering his hair up on top of his head. He feels the rotation of his wrists and fingers and it only takes a few seconds before Castiel’s hands are gone and Dean’s hair is up, Dean blinking in surprise. He turns to check out his reflection in the car window and sees the epitome of a perfect ‘messy bun’ piled atop his head, no stray hairs loose, and perfectly centered.

“Damn,” Dean praises. “Where’d you learn to do that?” 

“Claire’s hair is much longer and thicker than yours,” Castiel says, “and I helped her once when she injured her wrist during a hunt.”

“Huh,” Dean nods, turning a smile towards Castiel. “Thanks, man. Ready?” 

There’s an odd look in Castiel’s eyes as he meets Dean’s gaze, but he nods anyway, turning to walk towards the other side of the car. Dean watches his back for a moment before shrugging to himself, getting into the car and buckling up.

“You do realize Cas is old enough to be your dad right now, right?” Sam pipes up from the backseat. “You’re like, twenty.” 

Dean shoots Sam a glare. “Don’t make this weird, or else I’m going to start telling everyone you and Cas are my gay dads.” 

Sam throws a water bottle over the bench seat at Dean, who laughs when it hits him in the shoulder. 

\--

“Two queens, please,” Dean says at the motel front desk, opening up his wallet. He starts flicking through his credit cards, and on the third card, he realizes he can’t use any of them because he’s not Alan, or Steve, or even Joseph. Fuck. 

Castiel steps in and opens up his wallet, pulling out a credit card and setting it on the counter. “Two rooms. One double, two queens.” 

Dean looks (up) at Castiel, brow furrowed, nose scrunched. “What the hell, man?”

Castiel sends Dean a patient look, “I’m sure you don’t want to share a room with Sam and myself.” 

Dean squints. “We always share a room. And it’s not like you sleep.” 

Castiel’s face is doing something Dean doesn’t recognize, and it pisses him off that he can’t decipher it. They always share a room. Safety in numbers, and Dean’s a fucking control freak. He needs them all in the same space when it’s dark. He glances towards the clerk as the kid runs the card, and then suddenly Dean can place the look in Castiel’s eye - it’s the _shut up and follow my lead_ look that Dean and Sam had mastered, and now that Castiel is using it for the first time, Dean isn’t quite sure how to respond. Another look at the kid, and Dean realizes the situation: he’s a young woman with two older men, trying to book a room for all three of them. 

Shit.

“I’m not a hooker,” Dean grouses, his words directed at the clerk.

The kid looks like a deer caught in headlights. “I didn’t-” 

Sam laughs in the background, and Dean stomps his foot. “Shut _up_!”

Castiel’s smile is a little tight towards the kid. “Family road trip.” 

The kid is nodding and not looking at any of them as he runs the credit card, not even asking for I.D., he looks so uncomfortable. Good. Castiel has cards but he doesn’t have identification so that could really muck things up. A receipt is printed and the kid hands over two key cards, bidding them a good night; Dean snags his card from trembling fingers and picks up his duffel bag, stalking out of the office and stomping towards room number four. 

He leaves the door open as he throws his duffel onto the bed, and he turns to see Castiel and Sam lingering outside of the door. He points an accusing finger at them, “This is _not_ cool.” 

“I think you’ll be fine sleeping alone for a night,” Sam says, but his tone of voice is sarcastically reasonable. 

“Fuck you, you know why we always book a room together,” Dean spits.

“Because you have control and abandonment issues,” Castiel supplies.

Dean throws his hands up in the air. “ _Awesome_.”

Sam walks away from the door cackling, and Castiel lingers for a moment, his brow furrowed. 

“Will you be alright, Dean?” 

Dean is already unzipping his hoodie so he can shrug out of it, anger taut in his limbs. “I’ll be _fine_. Go not sleep, or whatever the fuck.”

“I could stay here,” Castiel suggests. 

“You’re not watching me sleep, dude,” Dean says, reaching up to try and untangle the hair tie from his bun. 

There’s a quiet pause, and then Castiel says quietly, “Goodnight, Dean.” 

Huffing once his hair finally frees from the tangle, Dean looks over at Castiel and forces himself to smile a little. Castiel has actually been pretty great about all of this, and Dean shouldn’t be such an ass to him. He slides the tie onto his wrist and runs a hand through his hair to get it out of his face, his smile relaxing into a more honest one. “Night, Cas.” 

When the door shuts, Dean stares down at himself. So far, so good. This isn’t _terrible_. 

\--

“Alright, I’ve got you in the system,” Sam says from the backseat as they rumble through Alexandria. “Transfer from University of Texas in Austin.” 

“Texas?” Dean’s gaze finds Sam in the rear view mirror. 

“It was the easiest paper to forge,” Sam says with a shrug, returning his gaze to his laptop. “Your name is Deanna Smith, you’re majoring in mechanical engineering.” 

“Neat,” Dean says with a grin.

“You’re twenty-two, single, and have a 3.6 GPA,” Sam continues. “You can make up whatever backstory you want as to why you left Austin.”

“3.6 GPA? That’s a little generous, Sammy,” Dean says, feeling a slight twist of anxiety in his high school dropout heart. 

“You gotta have a 3.0 in order to stay in the program,” Sam shrugs. “You’re going to attend a few classes but it’s not like you’re _actually_ attending school. No one will know.” 

Dean flexes his delicate fingers over the steering wheel. “I guess. I dunno. Shit, I didn’t really think about attending classes.” 

“It’s not going to be just a giant sleepover,” Sam teases.

“Shut up,” Dean huffs. 

“When we get to town let’s stop at a Kinko’s so I can print all of this off,” Sam says, shutting his laptop.

“Right,” Dean agrees. He’s nervous. Being a girl? Fine. Infiltrating a sorority? Dandy. 

_Attending classes_ and trying to pass as a smart, well to do student? 

He’s so fucked.

\--

“Welcome!”

Apparently Sam had called ahead to bullshit Dean’s way through the process, and the sorority had known he was on his way. Being approached by a beautiful blonde wearing a UL Lafayette hoodie is a great way to start the day, though, and being brought into a warm, friendly hug without preamble is definitely something Dean can appreciate.

“I’m Amanda,” the girl greets. “We’re so excited to have you!”

Dean’s smile freezes a little on his features, because he’s… well, Dean, and he’s got quite a few replies fighting to tumble off of his tongue. Instead, he pitches his voice slightly and replies, “I’m really excited to be here.” 

Amanda claps her hands excitedly, and then holds her hand out towards Sam. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Smith. And…” her gaze trails over towards Castiel. 

Sam plasters on a fake smile and drapes what he probably thinks is a casual arm around Castiel’s shoulders as he shakes Amanda’s hand with the other. “I’m Sam, this is Cas. We’re Deanna’s dads.”

Dean’s glad Amanda isn’t looking at him, because he definitely smacks himself in the forehead. 

“Oh!” Amanda brightens considerably. “That’s so cool!”

Castiel seems relatively unbothered, and he holds out Dean’s duffel towards him. “Here is your bag, sweetie.”

Those words sound so strange coming from Castiel’s deadpan fucking mouth and Dean takes the duffel from him with a grumble, shouldering it and tossing his hair over his shoulder. “Thanks _dad_.” 

“Did you guys want a tour?” Amanda asks. She’s so damn cheerful. Is she real?

Sam pulls his arm away from Castiel and nods, “That would be great, thank you Amanda.” 

Amanda turns toward Dean and loops her arm through his, tugging him close, all friendly and sweet and pure. “Great! Let’s go this way first. This campus is really pretty this time of year. I’m so glad to have a new Rush!”

Dean thinks he can get used to how friendly girls are to each other, as he sends Amanda a huge grin and nods. “I’m definitely glad to be here.”

He doesn’t need to look at Sam to see him rolling his eyes. 

\--

Touring the campus hadn’t taken that long, and Amanda brings Dean, Sam, and Castiel towards the house of Alpha Omicron Pi in the Cajun Village. The whole time Amanda has been nothing but sweet, and a bit handsy, and Dean has just happily suffered through her explanations of different buildings and the history of the school. Sam, the nerd, had asked a million questions because he’s just like that, and Amanda had answered all of them without fail. Her passion towards the sorority is unparalleled, and Dean finds himself making a silent promise to make sure they nab the vamp quick so it stops chomping on her sisters. 

“How are things in the sorority?” Sam asks as they approach the sidewalk of the house. He takes on that concerned tone that he usually uses with victims when fishing for delicate information, and Dean schools his features into one of concern as well. Castiel still looks slightly constipated. 

Amanda’s smile falters only a fraction. “Things are… alright.” Her hold on Dean’s arm loosens slightly. “The girls are all trying to stay strong. We’ve developed a buddy system and implemented a curfew.”

“That’s very smart of you,” Sam commends. “Do you have any idea why anyone would want to hurt the girls in your sorority?”

Amanda shakes her head, her gaze dropping slightly. “No- I. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to…” her free hand lifts up to her throat, and she’s likely thinking about the fact that the victim’s had been ripped out. 

Sam reaches forward and gently puts his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure the police are doing all they can.”

Amanda lets out a little snort, so unlike the cheery persona she’s been projecting for the past hour. “Sure.”

Castiel frowns. “Do you think otherwise?”

Amanda looks over at Castiel, “The police are the ones that suggested the buddy system and the curfew. They have no leads. We’re sitting ducks. And then there was that ra-” she licks her lips. “The rape the other day.” She shakes her head. “I want to trust the police, but nothing like this has ever happened on campus before. They sent… men to handle the case.” She shoots Sam and Castiel a sympathetic glance. “I don’t mean any offense, but usually the female officers take better care of us.” 

Sam nods, frowning. He squeezes Amanda’s shoulder, “Cas and I will be staying in town for a few days to do some sight seeing. If you need anything, you let us know, ok?” His gaze turns to Dean. “Deanna?” 

Wow, Sam is really good at the whole ‘concerned parent’ thing. Dean tries not to look annoyed by it so he nods, his hand sliding down Amanda’s arm to squeeze her hand warmly. “Sure, dad.”

“Great.” Sam pulls away with a subdued smile. “We’ll get going. Call us if you need anything, Deanna.” 

“Right, right,” Dean waves a dismissive hand, letting go of Amanda so he can turn around and start walking towards the house.

“Bye Sam, bye Castiel!” Amanda departs with a bit more cheer, before she follows Dean up the steps. “Your dads are really cool.” 

“Are they?” Dean asks with a bit of sarcasm. 

“I mean,” Amanda laughs a little. “Sam is kind of nerdy and Castiel doesn’t really talk, but they seem really sweet. How long have they been together?”

Dean is very, _very_ confused by the weird emotion twisting in his gut when Amanda asks how long Sam and Cas have been together. “Uh- a long time.” 

“It’s really cool,” Amanda says, “I know Texas is pretty conservative. It’s really brave of them to be together.” She unlocks the front door and allows Dean inside, still rattling on. “Anyway, this is us. There’s two girls in each room- you’ll be bunking with me.” 

Dean tries not to think about the fact that the slot opened up because the previous roommate had been viciously maimed. “Cool. Can I grab a shower?” he thinks about the contents of his duffel bag, and then groans. “I forgot to pack shower stuff.”

“That’s ok,” Amanda says warmly as they start up the stairs of the colonial home. “You can use mine, I don’t mind. We all kind of share, anyway.”

The home is old, traditional, and clean. It smells soft and delicate and Dean feels like he’s wrapped up in a giant hug as they make it to the top of the steps and turn into the first bedroom on the right. One bed looks slightly rumpled, and the other is made with almost military precision, clean sheets and pillow. Dean puts his duffel bag on that one and looks around the room, noting that Amanda’s side is artfully decorated with framed photos of her and friends and family. Dean’s side will never be decorated, and the nester in him is slightly sad at the thought that he won’t be able to leave his mark and make this place comfortable for himself. 

“Tonight we’ll have a party for you,” Amanda says.

Dean turns around to see her texting on her phone. “Seriously?” 

Amanda glances up with a smile touching her brown eyes. “Seriously. We all could use a pick-me-up and a new sister is the perfect reason.” 

Dean grins. “Awesome.”

\--

Dean is drunk off his ass when his phone rings. These girls can _drink_ , and Dean’s newly female, _petite_ body is having a hard time catching up. He’d started off drinking like he was still a six foot man and that was a huge mistake; the room is spinning but he feels giddy as he stumbles away from the cluster of girls, excusing himself so he can take the call. 

“‘Looooooooo,” he answers.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice sounds very confused and concerned.

“Cas!” Dean cheers, throwing a hand up in the air in exclamation before slapping it over his mouth to stifle his giggles. “Hiya. Hey.”

“Are you drunk?” There’s not accusation in Castiel’s voice, but Dean feels slightly defensive anyway.

“They threw a _party_ for me,” Dean slurs as he starts clodding up the steps. He’s wearing clean socks, and they’re slipping slightly on the wood, so his free hand is gripping the banister as he ascends. 

“Have you gathered any useful information?” Castiel asks.

“I’ve leeeeeeeeearned,” Dean leans against the wall at the top of the stairs to catch his breath, before he stumbles into the bedroom, “that the two girls were… _hic_ \- the two girls were on the same path when they were…” he drops his voice to a whisper. “ _You know_.” 

“I see,” Castiel replies. “In a park?”

Dean nods, and then realizes Castiel can’t see. He flops down onto the bed, voice muffled in the sheets. “By Cypress Lake. Swamp… thing.” 

“Very good, Dean,” Castiel says. “Sam and I will go check it out tonight.”

Dean rolls onto his back. “Take me with- _hic_ take me with you. I can help.”

“I believe it would be best for you to stay there,” Castiel says.

“Hey,” Dean rolls onto his side. “Why… would you- Amanda says you n’ Sam are a good couple.”

Silence. Then, “She did?” 

Dean wrinkles his nose a little. “Which is _stupid_ because… because you n’ Sam would _never_.”

“Never…?” 

“Like-” Dean waves a hand around, eyes glued to his delicate wrist. So slender. “Like, you n’ Sam would just never. Y’know?” 

“Hmm,” Castiel hums.

“Being a girl is easier than I thought it’d be,” Dean confesses. “Thought it’d be weird. I feel good.” 

“You feel good because you’re drunk,” Castiel reminds him.

“No, like-” Dean rolls back onto his stomach. “I feel comfortable. Like- s’not weird that my junk is gone. Still feel like me.”

“Gender is a fluid thing,” Castiel says thoughtfully. “The construct between the male and female anatomy and the gender stereotypes attached to them are fabricated exaggerations of the human psyche.”

“Gender… fluid,” Dean repeats slowly. “Physically a girl. Still me.” 

“Yes,” now Castiel sounds a bit amused, and Dean can imagine his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.

“Cas,” Dean says, voice borderline a whine. “D’you care that I’m a girl?” 

“No,” Castiel’s voice turns a bit fond. “As you said: you are still you. No matter if your junk is gone.” 

Dean snorts. “Hehe. You said ‘junk’.”

“You should have some water and sleep, Dean,” Castiel says.

Dean actually does whine this time. “Don’t wanna- s’weird. This room. Control freak.”

“Do you have a roommate?” 

“Amanda.”

“Perhaps go have some water and wait for her to go to bed, so you can too,” Castiel suggests.

“Ugh,” Dean groans. “Why can’t- Cas, come watch me sleep.”

“You are very drunk, Dean,” Castiel says. 

“ _Sooooo_?” Dean puts his phone on speaker and lets it rest next to his head, tired of holding it up to his ear. “Come keep me safe.” 

“You’re hardly in need of protection,” Castiel says dryly.

“But ‘m a girl now,” Dean says. “I weigh like, a buck ten. My knife is _huge_ in my hand. Dunno if I can hold it right.” 

“I can’t come to you, Dean. You’re in a sorority house where men aren’t allowed.”

Dean groans and wriggles around a little, moving his hands to start taking off his clothes. “This was a stupid idea.” He shifts around so he can reach behind himself, angling his shoulder, elbow and wrist to find the snap of his bra. Once he has it unhooked, he breathes a sigh of relief. “Cas. _Cas_.” 

“Hm?” 

Dean smiles hazily, feeling a fog overtaking his brain. “Boobs are awesome.” 

\--

In the morning Dean wakes up and, surprisingly, doesn’t feel like hurling right away. He sits up in bed and _feels_ how tangled up his hair is, and when he glances over at the bed across the room, he sees Amanda sleeping peacefully. It’s really weird, he thinks, going from chasing skirts to wearing skirts; he’s experienced so much in the past twenty-four hours, he’s pretty sure he’s going to learn some sort of moral lesson after this whole thing is said and done. Which is probably exactly why Rowena jumped at the opportunity to change him into a girl. She _would_ have some vendetta like “Learn how to respect women _properly_ , Dean”. And alright, being a girl has definitely opened his eyes to quite a few things. Like how unpleasant it is to have men stare at him when they think he’s not looking, or how uncomfortable it is to have a dude talk over you when you’re just trying to have a damn conversation. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, Dean gets out of bed in panties and a tshirt, making his way to the bathroom. It’s empty, and he glances at the clock above the vanity to see that it’s barely five. Cool, even while belligerently drunk his body won’t allow him to sleep more than four hours. Old habits die hard. He starts up the shower and gets inside, using the shampoo and conditioner with ‘A’ sharpie’d onto the label, once again thankful that girls are so… _giving_ and accommodating. Even though they know next to nothing about Dean, all of the girls in the sorority had welcomed him with open arms and smile and _lots_ of hugs and alright, maybe Dean sort of… likes being a girl. 

Amanda is a bit much with her overly cheery attitude and mother hen tendencies, but it’s also kinda… nice.

Finishing in the shower he gets out and picks up a hairbrush, running it through his wet hair. When he’s done he plucks sandy strands from the bristles, cleaning it for the next person, and then pokes around underneath the sink to see what else he can find. A bottle marked ‘BLOW ME’ catches his eye and he reads the label; huh. This makes your hair dry _faster_? Science, man. He dabs the directed amount into his palms and then works it through his hair, picking up the blow dryer and fidgeting with a few of the buttons before figuring out the right setting. It _does_ only take ten minutes to dry his hair and he marvels at that as he winds the cord around the appliance and stores it under the sink once more, wondering what other scientific ventures women have kept secret from the rest of the world. He walks back to the bedroom wearing just a towel and Amanda is still asleep when he enters; he dresses in yoga pants, the weird sports bra with way too many straps to be considered athletic, and zips the hoodie up over it. He leaves his hair down and pulls on a pair of sneakers, grabbing his cell phone off of the charger and making his way out of the room. 

Quietly making his way down the steps, he looks around the living room; he doesn’t have a great recollection of last night but he remembers streamers and balloons and lots of solo cups, but the living room is pristinely clean and pretty and huh. The girls cleaned up before passing out. 

Women truly live in a different world.

Outside on the front porch Dean dials Castiel, lifting the phone up to his ear and trotting down the steps. Castiel picks up on the third ring, his voice gravel-deep and sending a shiver through Dean’s body without his permission.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Dean manages to greet cheerfully. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Not bad,” Dean says honestly. “Being twenty-two again is a damn blessing.” 

“I’m sure,” Castiel replies. “You didn’t sleep for very long.” 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugs as he starts walking towards the campus cafe. “We got shit to do.”

“You have class to attend,” Castiel says.

Dean groans. “I don’t wanna. I wanna go with you and Sam to the swamp.”

“You remember that?” Castiel’s voice sounds slightly hesitant.

“Why wouldn’t I? You called so I could give you the scoop on where the girls were when they were attacked,” Dean says, brow furrowing. 

“You were very drunk,” Castiel reminds him.

“We didn’t talk that long,” Dean says a bit defensively. But something is niggling in the back of his head as he shoves his free hand into the pocket of his hoodie. “...Right?”

“My phone indicates that we talked for approximately thirty minutes,” is Castiel’s even reply. “Do you consider that a long time?”

“Shit, what did we even talk about?” Dean wonders aloud. A few snippets of conversation filter through his brain; _D’you care that I’m a girl?_ Heat rises to Dean’s cheeks and he stumbles over his feet a little, clearing his throat. “Never mind, don’t answer that. This fuckin’ girl body, man. Lightweight.” 

“If it’s any consolation,” Castiel says, a hint of amusement in his voice, “you are a very cute drunk girl.” 

Dean huffs. “I’m hanging up now. Call me when you get something.” He hangs up and stuffs his phone into his pocket, feeling embarrassment burning deep in his gut. 

Castiel thinks he’s a cute drunk girl.

Great.

After he’s been properly caffeinated, Dean leaves the cafe with a croissant in hand, wandering down the sidewalk to head back towards the house. There are more students up and about by now, a lot of which are jogging or cycling, and Dean watches their comings and goings with mild interest as he stuffs his face with pastry. Deciding to take a seat on a bench and relax a little, Dean watches the passersby as casually as possible. One of these kids could be the vamp. Hell, anyone could be the vamp. He feels like it could be a male, since the victims have all been female so far, and vampires tend to have a thing for the opposite sex. Pretty stereotypical, really. No one seems overly suspicious, if you don’t count the fact that these people are all up willingly before six a.m. to _exercise_ , so Dean pulls out his phone to scroll through the local news feeds. 

His scrolling gets interrupted by a call from Amanda, which he answers with a smile. “Morning!”

“ _Deanna_ ,” Amanda sounds hysterical. “Rachael- Rachael’s _dead_!” 

\--

Police are swarming Alpha Omicron Pi’s house when Dean approaches. Amanda comes rushing towards him from the crowd and throws herself into his arms; he automatically wraps up her slightly smaller body in his embrace, one hand in her long blonde hair, the other hand on her lower back as he glances around. Amanda is sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder and Dean watches as a few students send her a sympathetic glance, and then Dean is angling her away from the commotion so he can speak softly.

“Shh, hey. Hey,” he brushes her hair back from her face and tilts her head up a little. “Breathe.” 

Amanda hiccups and uses her sleeve to wipe the snot from her nose. She looks like a wreck, cheeks flushed, hair messy, and Dean can’t help but press a soft kiss to her forehead. As a man, he probably would have been yelled at and pushed away- but as a woman the comfort is sought out and Amanda melts into it, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against Dean’s. 

“She was- she took a phone call last night after you did and I thought,” she sniffs, “I thought she was just in the backyard. And I didn’t- I didn’t do a room check before I went to bed to make sure everyone was home and- oh my God, _Deanna_ , it’s all my fault-” 

“Hey, hey, hey, woah,” Dean cups Amanda’s face. He’s still very much himself inside, but he also knows he’s riddled with hormones right now, and seeing this girl in so much distress is tugging at heartstrings he didn’t even know he had. “It’s not your fault, Amanda. It’s not your fault.”

“But I should have _checked_!” Amanda wails.

Dean wraps his arms around her tightly, drawing her back in for a hug. “Shhh.”

Madison, a girl a few years older than Amanda with chocolate skin and honey eyes, approaches with a concerned look on her features. She reaches out to run her hand over Amanda’s back, before meeting Dean’s gaze. “Classes are cancelled for the day. They’re almost done looking through the house, we’ll be able to go in soon.” 

Nodding, Dean sends Madison a tight smile. Thank God he doesn’t have to go to classes “Thanks. Where are the other girls?”

Madison points behind her and Dean follows the line of sight until he sees the other six girls that make up the sorority seated on the lawn, huddled together under blankets with steaming mugs of coffee in their hands. 

“Alright.” Dean pulls away slightly so he can try to catch Amanda’s gaze. “Let’s go sit with the other girls, ok? We need to stick together right now.” 

Amanda nods tearfully, wiping at her eyes and doing her best to straighten as she pulls out of Dean’s embrace. “You’re- you’re right. We have to support each other right now.” She wipes at her nose again, and then offers Dean a shaky smile. “Thanks, Deanna.”

Dean offers a small, warm smile, thumbing gently under Amanda’s eye. “Let’s go.” 

They walk over to the girls, who all seem to be too shocked for emotions. Amanda sits next to Madison, who pulls her comfortingly into her side, and Dean stays standing, his eyes straying towards the police gathered in front of the house. The girls have started talking quietly amongst themselves and Dean takes that as his opportunity to leave, slipping away from the group and walking over towards the officers. 

“We should close the park,” one of them is saying. “We can’t let anyone else go there until we get this solved.”

“Good idea,” another one replies. 

“Excuse me,” Dean says softly as she approaches. The officers turn to look at her, and she doesn’t miss the way their curious gazes turn hungry. She keeps her demeanor demure, “This is the third attack this week.”

“Fourth,” an officer says uselessly.

Dean’s eyes crinkle slightly in annoyance, but he hopes it passes off as chaste. “Right, fourth. You’re going to close down the park?” 

“As much of it as we can,” an officer says. “It’s right in front of the student union, so it’s a high traffic area.”

“There’s no security there at night?” Dean asks innocently. 

“No.” 

“Why not?” Her eyes flash as she zeroes in on the officer that spoke, his name tag reading COOKE. 

“Things like this don’t happen around here,” Cooke says.

Dean’s eyes narrow. “Well they’re happening now, so why don’t you put some security around that area?” 

“Look miss, we’re doing the best we can,” Cooke says, doing that Placating Officer routine. 

“Yeah, right,” Dean snorts, dropping the act and rolling his eyes, turning on his heel. “Fucking useless.” 

“Hey-” 

A hand grabs Dean’s arm and he whips around, free hand connecting with Cooke’s inner elbow sharply to weaken his grip, fingers sliding to the man’s hand to wrench it away from his bicep. Cooke winces visibly at the angle Dean has his wrist twisted at and Dean is glaring furiously, anger radiating off of him in waves.

“Don’t _touch_ me,” he snarls. 

He releases Cooke’s hand and the man shakes it out, looking very offended that he just got manhandled by a small girl. The rest of the officers look surprised, but don’t say anything, as Dean nearly spits at Cooke. 

“If any more of my sisters die, their killer is going to be the least of your worries,” Dean threatens lowly.

“We’re handling it,” another officer says, grabbing Cooke’s shoulder and drawing him back away from Dean. 

Tilting his head up a bit, Dean sniffs. “You better.” And then he turns on his heel and moves back towards the group of girls, dropping to sit on the grass next to Amanda.

“Did you just assault a police officer?” Madison asks.

Dean grins. “Not the first time.”

\--

Over the next week, Dean gets the hang of the whole girl thing. He watches a few youtube videos on how to apply the makeup that Rowena had packed him, and damn, he looks pretty good with a smokey eye and red lipstick. He even figured out the curling iron after some trial and error (and thank fuck for concealer, because for once in his life, he’s actually burnt himself with a curling iron). Hanging out with the girls is fun and easy and alright, he’s had to attend a few classes, but he kept quiet and mostly to himself and wasn’t bothered by any of the professors, which is an easy win in his book. He eavesdrops on the girl’s conversations whenever he can and gathers that the sorority bond is _tight_ , and Amanda is the unofficial leader of them all. She’s doting and motherly and all of the girls go to her with all of their problems, and Dean marvels at the sisterhood. 

Girl bonds are crazy intense.

His relationship with Amanda is pretty easy, although sometimes his sharp wits catches her when she’s off-guard, and he’s not exactly sure what to make of it. Being sweet and kind and cheerful most likely aren’t Amanda’s default emotions, and she keeps everything else under lock and key, which Dean can respect. But he sees her façade crumble sometimes, and he just assumes it’s because girls in her house are dying and that’s pretty much a huge bummer.

Another thing Dean gets a swift lesson in is gossip. Because while the girls are tight and bonded or whatever, they’re still women, and hormonal at that. Dean finds himself on the outskirts of some scandalous conversation on most days and he’s assuming it’s because he’s new and ‘impressionable’ and the girls are pretty sure he’s worried too much about making a good impression to nark on anyone. Which is like, half true. He doesn’t really care about who slept with who or what girl wears a size five when she _clearly_ needs to be wearing a seven, but he does find himself noticing stupid things, like when Heather doesn’t wear deodorant or the fact that Amanda’s foundation color is slightly off from her neck.

That last one makes him check his own makeup in the mirror in a panic, using his phone as a flashlight to make sure that everything is nice and blended. 

Phew.

All in all Dean has fully adjusted to being a woman - not that there was much discomfort in the first place. 

Tonight they’re all gathered in the living room with some stupid Lifetime movie playing on TV while they drink wine and gossip to try and lighten the storm cloud that had been hanging over them all week.

“What about you, Deanna?” Madison asks from the other end of the couch. “Do you have a boyfriend?” 

Unbidden and without his fucking permission, Dean’s mind wanders to Castiel. Castiel thinks he’s a cute girl. Dean thinks Castiel is pretty cute, too, but that feels pretty juvenile and high school so he corrects that thought to _handsome_ , because Castiel _is_ handsome. He runs a hand through his hair and shrugs a little, staring at the television. 

“No.”

“Anyone special in your life?” Madison presses, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them as she peers at Dean with slightly dreamy look in her eyes that Dean just now associates with girls ‘emotionally bonding’ with each other. 

“Uh.” Dean shrugs a little. “Kinda.” 

“What’s he like?” Madison presses.

Blustering out a sigh, Dean pushes his hair out of his face again. “Stupid.” Madison snorts in reply, and Dean finds himself smiling a little. “Reckless. Loyal.” He shrugs a little and starts picking at his sock. “He’s a good… person.”

“Why don’t you date him?” Madison asks.

“‘Cause we-” Dean cuts himself off, suddenly realizing that he doesn’t have a legitimate answer to his question. Of _course_ he’s thought about Castiel in a… more than friendly manner, on quite a few occasions. It’s plain as fucking day that Dean cares about him in a way that isn’t platonic, and that Castiel returns the feeling, but it’s always the elephant in the room and Dean is always too chickenshit to talk about it. Not because they’re both men - no, Dean has been comfortable with his sexuality for a while - but because Dean’s emotionally handicapped and doesn’t know how to do anything but hide behind his masculine splendor. “I… dunno. Not sure it would work out.” Because in this line of business, Dean knows the risk of caring too much about someone. 

“You won’t know until you try, right?” Madison insists. Dean glances over at her to take in her warm smile, feeling his own heart filling a little. “Give it a shot.”

Nodding slowly, Dean turns his attention back to the television, not really seeing it as he turns his thoughts inwards. Give it a shot, huh? He thinks about the fact that Castiel hasn’t treated him any differently since the whole gender swap thing- how Castiel is still just… _Castiel_ and he’s still just Dean and yeah, ok, so Castiel is really amazing, so why _shouldn’t_ Dean give it a shot? 

Other than the fact that Dean absolutely sucks balls at talking about his emotions, but y’know, that’s just a small hiccup. Besides, laden with female hormones, Dean kinda feels like he might actually have a handle on his thoughts and emotions regarding the angel, and if there’s no time like the present, he’d rather confess his love to Castiel while he has boobs and can blame the emotions on hormones instead of his repressed feelings.

“Y’know what Maddie?” Dean says. “I think I will.” 

Madison reaches over and ruffles his hair playfully. “Atta girl.”

\--

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Sam, if you ask me _one more time_ -”

“It’s just- it’s bigger than your arm, dude.”

“It’s _fine_.”

“Why don’t you use the gun?”

“I’m not using a fucking _gun_ when it’s been forever since I’ve ganked a vamp, Sam. I’m using the fucking machete.” 

“Ok, but, realistically-”

“ _Shhhh!_ ”

Castiel’s shushing has Dean and Sam shutting their traps, the three of them crouched behind a bush near the lake. Dean sends another glare at Sam for good measure, brandishing the machete with maybe a bit more effort than usual, before resuming his position. Castiel looks like he’s resisting the holiest of eye rolls as he, too, returns his attention out towards the lake. It’s been three days since Rachael was maimed, and given the pattern, tonight is the night for the vamp to strike again. It’s quiet on the swamp front and Dean’s all out of redneck jokes so he’s been quiet for the last twenty minutes, pointedly trying to ignore the concerned looks that Sam keeps tossing his way while simultaneously trying to ignore how _big and strong_ Castiel is crouched next to him. 

“There,” Castiel says, voice low. 

Everyone’s eyes turn towards a figure walking along the vegetation, and Dean squints. It’s a small person, probably no bigger than himself, and when his eyes adjust he sees that it’s Madison. His heart leaps into his throat and he twitches like he’s going to blow his cover, but Castiel’s hand is heavy on his shoulder all of a sudden, keeping him in place. Clenching his teeth, Dean watches helplessly as Madison walks, the glow of her phone screen in her hands the only light for a hundred yards. 

“Maddie!” 

Another voice calls out, and Dean’s eyes fall on Amanda, who is jogging up towards Madison. Relief floods his system; thank God Madison wasn’t out here alone. Amanda drills it into everyone’s head to not forget about the buddy system or the curfew.

Madison turns and smiles. “Oh- hey Amanda.” 

“Why are you out here alone?” Amanda’s voice is worried, but light, as she approaches Madison and rests a hand on her arm. 

“I just needed to clear my head,” Madison says. “I had a fight with Jake. Things are really tough long distance and it’s starting to wear us thin.”

“I’m sorry,” Amanda says, voice filled with her usual warm concern. “But you really shouldn’t be out here alone. Especially since…” she trails off.

Madison reaches up to take Amanda’s hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

It’s hard to tell from this distance and hidden behind vegetation, but Dean thinks he sees something flash in Amanda’s smile. “It’s not me who should be worried.” 

Madison’s head tilts, “What-” 

An inhuman snarl rips from Amanda’s throat as she lunges at Madison, tackling her down to the ground. Madison cries out in alarm and pain and Dean is on his feet before he even realizes it, sprinting towards the scene - damn, this little body is fast - machete in his left hand as he yells out.

“Hey, bitch!” 

From on top of a struggling Madison, Amanda’s head jerks towards Dean, her eyes widening in surprise before they narrow in anger. “ _Hunter_?” 

Dean is on top of Amanda in a flash, kneeing her in the face to get her off of Madison. Madison is still screaming in terror, scrambling backwards to try and get away from where Amanda and Dean are wrestling; Amanda’s teeth are long, sharp, jaw snapping, nails clawing, body writhing as she tries to overpower Dean. The machete gets knocked out of his hand and clatters away and suddenly Dean is underneath Amanda’s inhuman strength, a hand on her neck and his elbow locked to keep her biting teeth as far away from his jugular as possible. 

“Maddie-” Dean huffs out. “Run!” 

Madison scrambles to her feet and bolts away. Castiel and Sam come into Dean’s peripheral vision - about damn time - and it’s Castiel that wrestles Amanda off of Dean, pinning her arms behind her back and holding her upright as Dean gets back on his feet, panting heavily. 

“What the fuck, Amanda?” Dean’s voice is shrill with accusation.

Amanda barks out a laugh, spitting blood at Dean’s feet. “I should have known you were too good to be true.”

“What the _fuck_?” Dean demands again, stepping forward to wrap his fingers around Amanda’s throat in a tight choke hold. “Why did you do it?” 

Amanda has the gall to roll her eyes, the whites of which are veiny and bloodshot. “Because I’m _hungry_ , idiot.” 

“You’re the fucking backbone of this sorority,” Dean says. “Those girls fucking _trusted_ you.”

Amanda laughs, the sound a bit garbled after Dean tightens his grip. “And they were easy pickings! Come _on_.”

White hot anger flashes through Dean’s body and he bends to pick up his machete. Castiel shifts so he can keep Amanda’s arms pinned behind her back, but he puts distance between them, offering her up on a virtual platter for Dean. Amanda’s eyes widen a little in realization and she starts struggling, snarling, eyes and teeth flashing. Dean holds the machete, a wicked smirk curling over his features. 

“By the way,” he says, winding his arm up, “your foundation never matches your neck.” 

He swings, and Amanda’s head drops to the ground with a dull, wet thud, the rest of her body following after Castiel lets it go. They stare at the remains for a moment, before Sam speaks up from somewhere off to Dean’s left.

“Her _foundation_ didn’t match _her neck_?” 

Dean shrugs. “Pretty much the worst insult you can give a girl. I wanted to make her hurt _emotionally_ before I ganked her.”

“Damn,” Sam breathes out. “That’s brutal.”

Dean shrugs, wiping his machete off on his jeans. “Alright, let’s salt and burn the body and get out of here.” He pauses. “Actually- I’m going to go find Madison.” 

“That would be wise,” Castiel says, already bending to pick up the dismembered head. “We will take care of this and pick you up when we’re done.”

“Cool.”

Dean hands off the machete and heads back to the Alpha Omicron Pi house and is thankful that everyone is locked away in their bedrooms. He passes his own and makes his way to Madison’s, knocking softly on the door and whispering. “Maddie?” 

The doors wings open and Madison looks rumpled and scared for a split second as she looks over Dean - her eyes lingering on the blood on his pants - before she draws him in for a tight hug. 

“Oh my _God_ , you saved my life!” Madison rushes out in a harsh whisper.

Dean backs up a little, still holding Madison in his arms, quietly shutting the bedroom door so her roommate doesn’t get disturbed. “Yeah- I uh. Do that.” 

Madison pulls away, and her eyes are red and puffy but there are no tear tracks on her cheeks. “I can’t believe Amanda did all of that.” 

Dean tries to shrug casually. “Well- I mean. I kinda can.” Turns out female intuition is a real thing, and Dean should have listened to it. Could have saved a lot of trouble.

“You’re not really here as a transfer, are you?” Madison asks.

“No,” Dean admits. “And uh- look. I know what you saw tonight was… crazy, but uh. Don’t… tell anyone.”

“Don’t tell anyone that Jennifer’s Body was our sorority leader?” Madison snorts a little, running a shaky hand through her curly hair. “I’ll do my best.”

“Look- uh. If you think- like, if you think anything like that is happening again, or if you feel unsafe or anything like that. Call me.” Dean finds himself saying, and meaning it. “It’s kinda my profession to deal with crap like this.”

Madison looks up at him through her lashes, an amused smile filtering over her pretty, full lips. “You’re not like other girls, are you?”

The cheesy line makes Dean grin fully. “You have no idea.” 

Madison draws Dean into a hug, squeezing his frame tight with her taller one. “Thank you so much, Deanna. I won’t forget this.” 

Pulling away, Dean squeezes Madison’s hands warmly, his smile fond. “Me neither. Now go to bed, you have a test in the morning.”

“Yes ma’am,” Madison says with a little laugh. She leans in, kissing Dean’s cheek, and then retreats into her room, closing the door behind her. 

Dean smiles to himself. Still gettin’ the girls.

He whistles as he packs his duffel, innocent as ever as he pulls a few articles of clothing from Amanda’s dresser and packs them alongside his own.

No harm no foul.

Not like she’s going to wear them, anyway.

\--

“I can’t believe you forgot the fucking counterspell,” Dean gripes from behind the wheel as the Impala roars down the road away from Lafayette. 

Sam sends him bitch face #326 in reply from the backseat. “You’ll live.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Of _course_ I’ll live. But we’re driving straight through, man, we’re not stopping except to pee and eat.” 

Sam snorts a little, and when Dean shoots him a glare, he holds up his hands innocently. “You said ‘pee’, not ‘piss’. You sure you’re ready to be a dude again?” 

“Y’know what? Next time we gotta go undercover _you_ are going as the chick,” Dean grouses as he returns his attention to the road.

“I think it suits you,” Castiel says. Dean shoots him a glare for good measure, but Castiel is unaffected. “It was the correct choice to have you undergo the spell and join the sorority.”

“You sayin’ I do my job better as a woman than a man?” Dean asks.

Castiel hums thoughtfully. “In this particular instance, yes.” 

“Right, well, we’ll keep that spell on hand for the next time I need to join a sorority.” 

“You’re wearing makeup,” Sam points out, unhelpfully.

Dean picks up his water bottle and throws it behind him with surprising strength, “It looks fucking good!”

Sam grunts when the water bottle hits him in the gut. “You drew on eyebrows.”

“I _have_ eyebrows,” Dean bristles, “I just _defined_ them. And you know what? Shut your trap. I’m fucking hot, and you’re jealous.” 

“Dean does make a rather attractive female,” Castiel agrees, spectacularly neutral. “Perhaps, Sam, you are feeling insecure because you feel protective over him. You are the older brother, now.”

“Woah,” Dean grips the steering wheel tight. “I don’t need him getting a ‘that’s my sister’ complex.”

“I don’t need one when you scare off any man that looks at you,” Sam shoots.

“I’m a _respectable_ gal,” Dean says primly. “Don’t need asshole dudes hitting on me all the time.” 

“What’s it like to get a dose of your own medicine?” Sam asks.

“I swear I will _pull this car over_ -” 

\--

By the time they make it back to the bunker they’re all exhausted. Sam gives Dean the vial of the reversal spell concoction and Dean stares at it for a moment before tucking it into the pocket of his hoodie, declaring that he needs to eat before he does anything. Sam rolls his eyes and retreats to his bedroom and Dean detours to the kitchen, throwing his hair up into a rather expert ponytail, thank you very much, before he starts opening cupboards. 

“Dean.”

Dean doesn’t look at Castiel as he opens the fridge, “What’s up?” 

Suddenly he’s getting a whiff of ozone and aftershave and Dean glances up ( _up_ ) at Castiel, eyes slightly wide in surprise at how quickly Castiel had crossed the distance between them. 

“Are you going to take the potion?” Castiel asks. 

“Uh,” Dean’s mind fizzles out a little. This isn’t the first time Castiel has been so close to him (the guy still doesn’t seem to have any idea on what ‘personal space’ means), but Dean’s body is hyper-aware of his presence, and Madison’s earnest face flickers in his mind’s eye for a beat before Dean snaps himself out of it, licking his lips and turning back to the fridge. “In a bit. Probably shouldn’t do it on an empty stomach.”

“You’re putting it off,” Castiel observes. Damn him.

“Look,” Dean shuts the refrigerator, arms filled with eggs and bacon. “I’m just not chomping at the bit, y’know? It’s not like this is awful. It’s not gonna kill me to be a chick for a bit longer.” His heart thuds against his chest as he walks over to the counter, putting the items down and then reaching above his head for a frying pan hanging from the rack. He has to get on his tiptoes, but he pulls one down with little difficulty. “Do you want me to change back?”

“It doesn’t matter to me if you are male or female,” Castiel says plainly. 

“Good,” Dean says a bit stiffly. There’s a lot of implications in those words. “I uh.” He grabs a small bowl, setting it on the counter so he can start cracking eggs into it. “I kinda wanted to talk to you about something, anyway, and bein’ a girl… makes it easier to talk. About things.” 

Castiel tilts his head. He’s wearing that stupid trench coat and his brow is furrowed and his shoulders are slightly hunched and he’s so _big_ and Dean shoves at his arm a little, feeling his cheeks heat. 

“Have a seat or somethin’ will ya? Kinda makin’ me nervous.” 

“My apologies,” Castiel moves towards the kitchen table, sitting on the bench and facing Dean. “What would you like to discuss?”

“Us,” Dean says as casually as possible. He gets a shard of eggshell in the bowl and huffs, dipping his finger in to try and scoop it out.

“Us,” Castiel repeats. 

“I just-” Dean picks out the shell, grabbing a paper towel to clean his hand. “I uh. Y’know I... We-” he licks his lips, cracking another egg. “We’re… close.” 

Castiel’s head tilts adorably. “We are.” 

“And like- I mean. In a way that… people aren’t usually close,” Dean continues. Damn it, being a girl was supposed to make things easier. 

“We share a profound bond,” Castiel nods. 

“Ok- so,” Dean grabs a fork to start beating the eggs in the bowl. “Do you ever think about our bond… being something more?” 

“Are you implying that you wish to pursue a romantic relationship with me?” Castiel asks. 

Dean drops the fork in the bowl and flails a little, grimacing at the slimy utensil as he picks it up. “Yes.” 

“Are you asking this now because you are a female and it would be easier for you to accept a romantic bond with me if it were heterosexual?” 

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean looks up at Castiel, surprised. “No. I don’t care that you’re a dude and I’m a dude. That’s not- that’s not the problem.”

Castiel frowns in thought. “Then what is the problem?” 

“I dunno, the fact I have the emotional capacity of a rock when I’ve got a dick between my legs?” Dean says a little defensively.

“Dean,” Castiel stands up, crossing the kitchen to stand next to Dean. Dean is a little overwhelmed by his presence, again, and feels _tiny_ in front of him. “I am aware of your feelings for me. If being in this body makes it easier for you to talk about them, then I will not judge you.”

Dean tilts his chin up, slightly defiant. “Well I ain’t throwin’ myself at you.”

“You don’t need to,” Castiel says. 

“So then _kiss_ me,” Dean finds himself saying, and Castiel does.

Dean’s kissed a lot of people in his life. He’s had good kisses, bad kisses, happy kisses and sad kisses. He’s had kisses full of regret and kisses full of longing, but nothing could have prepared him for the way Castiel kisses him. 

With love. Adoration. Loyalty. Respect. 

Dean lifts his arms to wrap around Castiel’s shoulders and draw him closer, head tilting, lips slotting, and he can’t get enough. He’s on his tiptoes again for a different reason but Castiel is bending so there’s less of a stretch and oh. His stubbled upper lip against Dean’s smooth on is a beautiful contrast and his arms are so strong when they wrap around Dean’s waist he feels himself get a little dizzy with it. Their tongues meet and Dean lets out a noise he doesn’t recognize, melting into it, allowing himself to _feel_ wholly and fully and wow. Wow, why did he wait so long to do this?

When Castiel pulls away his eyes are dark and his lips are smeared with remnants of the lipstick Dean had been wearing, and he looks… fucking good.

“I’m gonna take that potion,” Dean says, “and we’re gonna do this when I’m a dude again, too. But for now, I-” his stomach swoops. “Can we be like this?” He’s _dying_ of curiosity, wants to know what it’s like to be pinned down and on the receiving end of what he normally dishes, wants it with _Castiel_. 

“Yes,” Castiel says, but even though he agrees, he pulls away. “But perhaps you should finish cooking your meal before we move our activities elsewhere.”

Dean glances towards his forgotten bowl of egg scramble, and then rolls his eyes. “Ugh, fine.”

Castiel leans in to press a soft, stubbly kiss to his forehead. 

Dean sort of loves it.

\--

“Holy shit, holy _shit_ -” Dean gasps, his back arching, fingers tangling in the mess of Castiel’s hair between his legs. Pleasure races up and down his spine, his toes curling as Castiel’s tongue does _wicked_ things to his pussy, sucking, slurping, licking, making Dean toss his head on the pillow and loosen his ponytail. “Oh my _fuck_ -”

Castiel pulls away, chin shiny with slick, and licks his lips. Dean looks down his body at him and feels a punch of arousal knock the air out of his lungs at the sight, his legs trembling as he allows them to finally fall to the bed. He reaches down to pulls Castiel up his body for a filthy kiss, licking his taste off of his mouth and groaning with need. Castiel’s rough palm squeezes at Dean’s breasts, fingers tweaking nipples, and Dean lets out a litany of high pitched moans and gasps at the sensation. This body is so _sensitive_ and Castiel feels incredible against him. Snaking a hand between them Dean wraps his fingers around Castiel’s cock, giving it a few jerks, dropping his head back to try and gather his breath (and his sanity). 

“Dean,” Castiel moans low, his hips rutting forward. The head of his cock bumps against Dean’s thigh, smearing precum, and he lowers his mouth to Dean’s neck to leave a hot, blazing trail of open-mouthed kisses against the slender column. 

“Need you,” Dean finally lets tumble from his swollen lips, his hands moving to Castiel’s shoulders. “Fuck, please-” 

Castiel settles between Dean’s legs on his knees and slides his hands down his ribs, Dean feeling so fucking _small_ beneath his palms. Castiel strokes his own cock a few times - Dean licks his lips because damn, he can’t wait to get his mouth on that next round - and then with guidance and patience Castiel nudges the head of his cock to Dean’s slick folds, letting out a breath as he finally catches and slides inside. The burn isn’t unpleasant, but Dean still hisses at the sensation of being filled, a long moan ripping from his throat as he wraps his legs around Castiel’s waist. 

Castiel stays propped up above Dean, his chin tilted down so he can see where their bodies are joined and Dean can see the look of wonder that passes over his features. This isn’t Castiel’s first rodeo, but this _will_ be the first time where he’ll get his rocks off and not get murdered afterwards, so Dean can understand the novelty of taking in the moment. Wrapping his arms around Castiel’s shoulders Dean pulls him down to his chest, feeling the weight and strength of Castiel consume him, and then Castiel starts rocking shallowly, making Dean’s breath hitch.

“Fuck, that feels incredible,” Dean pants out, trying to catalogue the sensations he’s feeling. Castiel’s tongue and fingers had been amazing, but nothing can compare to the _thickness_ inside of him, how _full_ he feels. It’s a slow burn, the swirl of pleasure in his gut, spiked periodically by certain shifts in Castiel’s thrusts. 

And Castiel, Jesus. Castiel takes his time fucking Dean, at first slow and shallow, Dean feeling every millimeter of his cock dragging in and out of his pussy. And then he starts pushing in deeper, surer, his hips connecting with the flesh of Dean’s ass with every thrust, and he picks up his pace little by little, Dean’s body following along effortlessly. By the time Castiel is slamming into Dean, Dean’s gripping the headboard and crying out with each thrust, toes curled, nipples hard, pussy throbbing and slick, skin flushed and eyes closed as he succumbs to the intense pleasure ripping through him. Castiel is letting out low, gutteral noises, praising Dean under his breath, his arms wrapped around his small frame and nearly lifting him off the bed with every movement he makes. 

After a few powerful thrusts Castiel worms a hand between their bodies, his thumb passing over Dean’s clit, and Dean _loses it_ , letting out the most ridiculous fucked out noise ever imaginable, and Castiel keeps rubbing and rubbing until finally all of that heat and pleasure builds up like a lava flow and bursts, Dean coming with a cry of Castiel’s name and tears streaming down his cheeks. Muscles spasming, breath caught, spine arched, Dean rides wave after wave of intense pleasure, the sheer duration of release short circuiting his brain. When he collapses he’s aware of Castiel pulling out of him and he glances down just in time to see Castiel jerk himself to completion, spilling ropes across Dean’s stomach, a low moan accompanying the visual.

Collapsing next to Dean, Castiel buries his face in the sheets, sweaty and panting. Dean lets out a little laugh and slaps him lightly on the shoulder as he rolls to his side, still out of breath, but radiant with orgasm.

“Shit dude, that was awesome,” Dean says.

Castiel shifts so the side of his face is pressed into the bed, blue eyes regarding Dean with warmth and fondness best associated with post-orgasmic haze. “It was.”

Grinning wide, Dean stretches out his body languidly and wiggles his feet. “D’you think Sam heard us?”

“I think Africa heard us,” Castiel replies.

Dean pushes his hair out of his face. “ _Awesome_.”

\--

The next day, Dean drinks the reversal spell. Being back in his regular male body is… jarring, to say the least. He’s a foot taller, three times as thick, and he keeps lifting his hand to his face to brush his hair out of his way only to realize that hey, he doesn’t have long pretty hair anymore. But Castiel still looks at him fondly; still touches his hand, kisses his cheek, murmurs praises into his ear, and Dean knows that things are good.

Sam refuses to look him or Castiel in the eye for about three days, but things are good. 

Dean’s phone rings while they’re all seated at the map table, and he rolls his eyes at Rowena’s name flashing on the screen before answering. “‘Lo.”

“Well _hello_ dearie~” she greets. “I see you’re all back and male again.”

“Sure am,” Dean says. 

“How was it?” Rowena asks, delight in her voice.

“Got the vamp,” Dean says casually.

Rowena tuts, “Am not talkin’ about the vampire, silly. How was your time as the fairer sex?”

Dean shrugs a little, “S’alright.”

“And your handsome angel?” Rowena asks with a knowing tone to her voice. 

He’s glad he didn’t answer on speaker. “Also good.”

“There’s a lesson to be learned here, Dean,” Rowena croons. “A hope you’ve learned it.”

Dean glances across the table at Castiel, whose attention is fixated on a book in his hands as he reclines slightly in his chair. “I think I did.”

“Good!” Rowena chirps. “Now, about why I called. Do you know where I can find the blood of a forgotten sea?”

Dean rubs a hand over his mouth, stifling a groan. “No.” 

“Goodie! I will be over in a few hours to do some of that _riveting_ research dear Samuel is always talking about! Ciao~”

Dean hangs up, dropping his phone onto the table. “Rowena’s coming over.” 

Castiel lifts up his book to hide his smile, “Have you put together a gift basket yet?”

Dean groans.

A lesson, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)


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